Foreign Relations
by Greys
Summary: America has had it with these motherfucking Poles in his motherfucking country. So he decides to take... a vacation? Preferably in some Pole-free zone. Starring: America, England, Norway et others. /R


_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Names used in this fic are purely fictional._

_Characters: America, England, Germany, Norway, cannibals..._

_Warnings: Still no beta. There is a lot of Polish word here but you don't need to know what they mean- just that they are Polish. Translation of them can be found at the end of the page. Furthermore, as all jokes about Poles in English I've found sucked major ass, I decided to translate our own (yes, we, Poles, have jokes about Poles. Go figure.). I can't deny that this fic is more directed at Poles, but I tried my best. Maybe, somehow I managed to make it more international._

_Enjoy&Review_

* * *

_Pole- n. (__p0__l) __a native or inhabitant of Poland; not much is known about the species, aside from their rebellious attitudes, unhealthy consumption of alcohol and resilience that rivals the cockroach's. Transcripts from American studies on 'Myths and Fairytales' may shed some light on these illusive creatures:_

_1)Natural habitat- fights. Special precaution: __even if the problem is light and considered unimportant, a Pole will defend its point to the death._

_2)Language and Communication- Not registered. After analyzing the ancient script it was concluded that no language could possibly be so unnecessarily complicated._

_3)Distinctive characteristics: a bottle of vodka, a sabre (optional)_

_4)Allies: None._

_5)Enemies: another Pole._

_It is commonly believed __that once you find a Pole, you will wish you were never born._

* * *

"Helou, hau doo yoo doo?"

"_POLSKA! BIAŁO-CZERWONI!_"

"~_Najwięcej witaminy mają polskie dziewczyny  
I to jest prawda, to jest fakt: dziewczęcy urok, wdzięk i takt.._.~"

"Cola sucks, Polish vodka rocks!"

Alfred F. Jones couldn't take it anymore. He wasn't sure when it started to really bother him but now he was at his snap-point. He didn't mind the immigrants (hell, if you got down to it, majority of his people weren't native Americans!), seriously, he had nothing against but…

_But_…

America's fist hit the desk, spilling his coffee on the newly delivered report on health care. Those… _people_were everywhere! He walked down the street- they were there. He went to McDonalds (that reminded him, he was getting hungry)- the probability that the shop assistant was… one of _them_ oscillated near one. Hell, his secretary was an exchange student from Poland!

For a moment he gleefully imagined himself personally nuking the hell out of that blasted country. Wait on a second, why exactly couldn't he just do that?

'_Oh, right. NATO. EU. Paperwork. Crap.'_

Wait, couldn't he at least send (kick) them back to Poland?

'_Oh, right. NATO. EU. Paperwork. Crap.'_

America looked pleadingly at the ceiling. _'Why me? I know I'm awesome and everybody wants to be near a hero such as me, but why?! What have I done wrong to deserve such punishment?'_

It was definitely fortunate that God was too busy facepalming to grace that question with an appropriate answer.

After concluding that no divine involvement was likely to occur, Alfred returned to his sulking.

Suddenly, an idea appeared in his head. Oh, but… Would he dare? That would mean leaving his people without hero's guidance. Well, there was that guy calling himself president (who was he again?) but a hero was a hero. You couldn't forge that awesomeness.

On the other hand…

He walked to his wardrobe and pulled out a dusty but quite big rucksack. He grinned.

"Vacation, here I come!"

* * *

_Favorite pastime of Poles is getting into fights with overwhelming forces of the enemy__._

_Yes, really._

* * *

"You have some cheek, showing up here unannounced. I believe I raised you better than this."

"Stick still high up your ass, I see."

Alfred slung himself down on the chair across from Arthur's desk, feet dangling over one arm of it. England scowled.

"I don't have time to entertain you today. Go bother somebody else." He said haughtily, sitting behind his desk.

America frowned, feeling a bit unsure. "Actually, I kinda…um."

"You, kind of _what_?" Arthur snapped impatiently.

"May I stay here for a while?" Alfred blurted out.

Silence.

"Excuse me? What did you just-?"

"May I stay here? Just for some time, honestly, you won't even notice I'm here-"

"Why?" Ah, England. As always, straight to the point.

"Weeell, it all began with how that guy Pułaski and _the other guy_ helped me with my independence-"

An hour and several exclamations from poor England, they finally got to the gist of this farce- I mean visit.

"So, you wanted a break from your citizens-"

"From Poles, _Poles_!"

"Your _citizens_" one of Arthur's eyebrows was twitching violently. "And you choose, in your great intelligence and wisdom, I'm sure, to come, to ,all of the bloody places, here, as in Great Britain?"

Alfred blinked, a little confused. "Um, yeah? Why, is this a bad place?"

Arthur snorted and murmured quietly: "It could be worse; he could have gone to Ireland."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, you cretin. Anyway," Arthur cleared his throat and looked seriously at one of his former colonies that happened to be one of the superpowers. "You can't stay here, I'm busy and anyway I have a meeting with Poland tomorrow and I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate-"

"What?! Poland is coming here?! Why?!"

Arthur debated with himself on how to break the news to the poor misguided country. In the end, his mother *khemkhem* _older brother's_ instincts took over and decided to withhold certain information.

"As you should know, Poland is in EU and as such it's only natural that both of us meet. And his people come here to work."

"WHAT?!" Alfred cried out in panic. He couldn't help but feel sorry for Arthur. "Then what should I do?"

He asked with so much desperation in his voice that England couldn't help answering _'Just this one time.'_

"Just think for a second. Where do you think Poles are less likely to be?"

This question proved to be quite difficult to answer. Finally, Alfred said hesitantly:

"Eee… I dunno… China, maybe?"

That wasn't an answer that Arthur was expecting but fine.

"Alright, it's indeed true. But I doubt that you of all nations should feel comfortable going there, you'd be murder-" at this point Arthur's eyes flashed dangerously. "Hm. Actually it's a jolly good- BOLLOCKS!" He jumped in truly ungentlemanly manner from his chair, staring at the clock.

Saying that America was shocked would be an understatement. "W-what the hell?!"

However, England wasn't listening to him anymore. In a second he was before a giant mirror and- was that a hairbrush in his hand?

_Was he brushing his eyebrows?__!_

The taller country gapped. Never, never in his life he'd seen Arthur Kirkland taking care of his appearance. Just… what?!

Arthur ignored his guest in favour of fixing his uniform. _'That bloody, irresponsible… Of all days he had to come-!' _He was cut from his inner monologue by a doorbell.

"Bollocks!"

"Are you expecting someone- hey, what the fuck?" Jones spluttered as he was unceremoniously dragged from the chair, courtesy of Arthur. The Englishman rounded on him

"You are to be at your best behaviour, do you understand?" the tone left no room for disobedience.

Alfred gulped. He nodded hastily.

Kirkland straightened his back (which made the other country raise an eyebrow) and opened the door.

Clad in loose clothes stood a man, and God help him, he had to be the best representative of his species that Alfred had ever seen. He was around Alfred's own height, with blond shoulder-length wavy hair and blue eyes. He kind of resembled Francis, that is if Francis ever allowed his skin to tan more than just "a gentle kiss of the sun" and ever did an honest day of work in his life instead of focusing on creams and perfumes. The stranger had that appealing rugged look that made women (and some men) swoon at his feet and beg to bear his babies.

However, what caused Alfred to question his sanity was Arthur who, blushing (_blushing_ for Heaven's sake!), nervously invited the man in.

"Come in, Peter, it's nice to see you again."

"Likewise, Mr. Arthur." replied, with accented English, Peter. His eyes rested on Alfred for a moment before flickering again to Arthur. "I'm not imposing, sir?"

"Of course not!" said happily England, throwing America a glance that clearly said: _"See? Some people have manners!"_. "Peter, this is Alfred, my… acquaintance. Sit down, I'm going to make some tea."

"Ah, Mr. Arthur, I'm sorry but I can't stay long today. I have an appointment in Buckingham Palace in an hour, I'm afraid." Arthur's face fell into a disappointed frown. After a second he instantly recovered.

"Don't worry, don't worry! I'll call Buckingham Palace and tell them that you're with me. Now, sit down and make yourself at home. Alfred." Tone of voice instantly changed from "happy" to "annoyed". "Behave." was all he said before disappearing in the kitchen.

America turned to the stranger. "Alfred F. Jones. Nice to meet ya."

"Piotr Krzyżanowski." Peter shook the proffered hand. Alfred frowned. "Cshyshanovski?"

The man sighed. "Just call me Peter. Everybody here calls me that."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Abroad, huh?"

"Yes. And you?" "Ha! You picked up the accent? I'm American! Anyway, what are you doing in old Artie's home? Are you going on a date or something?"

Peter didn't blush but blinked very slowly at the completely tactless man before him. "It's only work, sir." Alfred's eyes went wide. "Ooooh. I thought, you know, with how he was acting before you came that it was some-"

"Alfred." came a deceptively calm voice from behind him. There stood England and his expression would best be described as pure evil. He put his hand on America's shoulder and _squeezed_.

"Did you wonder where Mr. Krz-Krzyżanowski" he stumbled only a little on the name which made Peter smile at him (Arthur practically glowed) "came from?"

"Um…"

"I'll tell you." The grin on his face long passed the level of "creepy". "He's from Poland."

Alfred choked. He turned to Peter, who simply nodded, confirming poor nation's fears.

'_Nonononononononono! Help, somebody, they are everywhere, oh God, why, WHY?!'_

Before the Englishman and the Pole had a chance to say anything, America was already running at top speed in the direction of the airport.

"Mr. Arthur? Why did he-?"

"Don't worry about him. He just remembered he had an important meeting."

"That's so? Well, Mr. Arthur, where's the problem?"

"Huh?"

"You said you had trouble with a leaking faucet. Would you mind showing me?"

"Oh, right. This way, Peter."

* * *

_Newest __referendum in Ireland: "Do you think that Polish immigrants are a big problem for Ireland?"_

_36%- Yes, I think th__at Polish immigrants are a big problem_.

_64%- Absolutnie, kurwa, żaden.*_

_*Absolutely no, bitch._

* * *

There was one positive aspect of his trip to England. It made him realize that he couldn't naively choose any country he happened to come across. He was threading on thin ice, now.

In other words: he needed a plan.

A plan to successfully infiltrate a country where percentage of citizens of Polish descent would be 0.

And which country would be the lucky one to be chosen?

What was the saying? Enemy of my enemy is my friend?

Well…

"Long time no see, Ludwig!"

Germany grunted. The last time he had a pleasure of talking with America in Berlin was during his "stabilization" after WWII. But then again, he did deserve that…

"What brings you here, America?"

Alfred ignored less than polite tone and put his arm around the other's shoulders.

"Now, now, cheer up, would you? Anyway, let's talk in your house, not in the middle of the street! Seriously, where are your manners? Hm?" He frowned, looking quizzically at Germany

At the mention of the word "street", Ludwig jumped and started checking his pockets and wrists as if searching for something. After a while, he contently sighed in relief and smoothed his hair.

"Eh? You okay there?"

Ludwig waved him off and replied tiredly: "Yes. Just… Never mind. My house is just around the corner, we can talk there."

Ludwig's house was revealed to be more a fortress than a normal house. A high metal fence surrounded the mansion with barbed wire at the top. Germany opened the door with a key, special combination of codes and retinal scan. In the yard, Bulldogs, Dobermans and Rottweilers barked loudly, playing with something that looked like bones of a dinosaur. Alfred could feel the hair on the back of his neck raise- he felt rather than saw at least twenty snipers with guns pointed in their direction.

Before they entered, Ludwig once again typed in a code, which was longer than the first one, and after a retinal and fingerprint scan, they were finally able to find themselves inside the house. America was all about rushing to the kitchen (God, he was hungry!) but Ludwig held him back.

"Just a second."

He pulled out a remote, clicked once and America could now see green crisscrossing lasers that covered every inch of the space between them and the rest of the house. He could guess it was the same for all the rooms. Germany clicked once again and the lasers disappeared. Alfred swallowed. He never would have thought Ludwig was so paranoid.

"Um. I see, you value your privacy."

Germany sighed. "It's not like I had much of a choice. Make yourself at home; I have to check something up." With that he swiftly went upstairs.

Oooh, come on. As if America would let such a juicy bit of gossip pass under his nose.

He stealthily followed after the other nation. His excitement rose even more when he noticed Ludwig taking down a giant painting of smirking Prussia to reveal a safe. Germany typed in a code (how many of them did he have?!) and opened it.

But, to America's disappointment, the safe was empty, if not counting a small piece of paper.

He watched with curiosity as Germany took it with shaking hands and read it.

For a moment, none of them dared to breathe. Suddenly:

"_Fick dish_! _Hurre_! _Ich knall' dir gleich eine_! _Arschloch_! _Scheiße_! _Polnische banditen_!"

America had to admit, he was quite impressed with Germany's… vocabulary. But then he took notice of the man's pale face and instantly moved to help him sit down. Poor guy looked as if he had a heart attack.

"Germany, how are you feeling? Do you want water or-?"

"No, I'm fine, America." said Germany, recovering from his momentary OOC-ness. "I'll explain everything."

They were sitting in Germany's living room, two bottles of beer before them. Ludwig poured himself half a glass, but then seemed to reconsider and brought a biggest mug America ever seen then filled it instead.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "So… What happened?"

Ludwig grimaced. "I seem to have a problem with one of my minorities. You may have noticed than this house is different from the others."

"Yeah, well, the only thing missing is ballistic missile system." He chuckled.

Ludwig didn't say anything, just looked at him impassively. America's laugh stopped.

"Oh God, are you serious?!"

"I have no choice!" Germany blurted out. He took a deep "calming" breath. "There's nothing I can do, and Gilbert tells me to fix it as if it was so simple, the bastard could help me at least instead of bothering Roderich, but noooo."

"Wait, wait, wait. From the beginning, 'kay? Who do you want to keep out? From who was that piece of paper?"

Ludwig shivered. "Feliks' people." Was all he managed to say.

Alfred gaped. "B-but you've been enemies for centuries! Your brother partitioned him! You invaded him! You _holocausted_ him, for Christ's sake! And his people come here to work for you?!"

Germany gestured around the room. "Would you really call it "working for me"?"

America frowned, fixing his glasses. Now he regarded the place with greater care.

He first attributed lack of anything resembling decoration to the usual German stiffness but he was pretty sure Ludwig (and Gilbert for sure) would have never thrown away that silver clock, memento of Prussian glory (whatever that meant) nor the golden candelabra. The crystal chandelier didn't even look crystal anymore and… wait just a minute, where the hell all the light bulbs went?!

Alfred glanced at Germany with pity.

Ludwig hid his face in his hands and wept.

* * *

_Two guys are walking in the forest. One says to the other,_

"_Hey, I think we just crossed the Polish border." _

"_How can you tell?"_

"_My watch is gone."_

* * *

"_You can't choose any EU countries. We practically have no borders so traveling from one country to another is quite easy."_

"_Fine, I get it. So, I need a country which is not in EU, doesn't neighbor with Poland and its climate makes it a last choice if someone were to settle in. And, I can't be at war or nearly at war with. Any ideas?"_

"_Well, he's Feliks' neighbor but there is always Russia…"_

"_And he will be my last choice if you don't mind."_

"_Quite. But that gave me an idea…"_

'_It's surprisingly warm.' _thought Alfred, walking through the streets of Tromsø. Germany's idea had merit, he could admit as much, even though he wasn't particularly keen on the idea of spending his vacation behind Arctic Circle. Still, it was better than dealing with Poles and, according to Germany, Norway was quite beautiful this time of the year, not to mention meeting anyone (regardless of nationality) outside of big cities was rather rare.

Though he was a bit surprised when he saw a church there. Wasn't Norway a protestant country? Hm…

Also that boy in dark blue clothes passed him by at least 23th time now.

"You don't have to hide, you know." America smiled. _'Aw, how cute, he's shy because of my hero status!' _

A young man with blond hair and blue eyes stopped before him. He reminded America of Finland or maybe Sweden? But then again, to him all those Nordic countries looked similar.

"I'm Alfred F. Jones." Norway looked at him in a bored manner.

"What's your business here?"

America frowned. _'Talk about rude. He didn't even introduce himself!' _

"Vacation."

Norway shrugged. "Just wanted to tell you to be careful. The streets are slippery."

Alfred laughed, walking pass him. "You don't need to woAAAH!" Thud. "Fucking shit, my ankle!"

Norway sighed tiredly, glancing at the swearing nation.

'_So bothersome.'_

* * *

"You are a lucky man, Mr. Jones. It's not even twisted. I'm going to wrap it with elastic bandage; you just have to be careful with it, understood?"

"Yeah, no problem." He sat up wincing slightly. _'God, I hope Norway doesn't spread it around. I'll never live it down.' _

The doctor who was treating him was a woman with surprisingly strong and firm grip. Alfred would have never expected her to be this strong, especially considering her slim figure (at least in comparison to her male colleague, who stood next to her).

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "Do you know where that… yyy…that guy-?"

"You mean Mr. _Norge_?" asked the woman. "He left already. He's not very sociable, is he?" She giggled quietly and Alfred could have sworn he heard her say: "Not like _him_." He dismissed it and inquired instead:

"You call him "Mr. _Norge_"?"

"Unfortunately," this time the other doctor answered. "We can't yet properly pronounce his name, so we call him "_Norge_". He doesn't mind, though."

Alfred frowned. "I thought you were Norwegian."

They both laughed. "Actually, we're from Poland. You know, a small country in Euro- OH SHIT! DEFIBRILATOR, QUICK!"

'_I see a__ beautiful field of flowers. It's so peaceful and warm. Is this… Heaven?'_

* * *

_Medical consultation. Three Polish doctors stand before the patient._

"_It's influenza."_

"_What are you talking about?! It's clearly jaundice."_

"_What jaundice?! It's tuberculosis!"_

_After few minutes:_

"_Gentlemen, we shouldn't fight, autopsy will show which one of us was right, anyway._

* * *

Jungle. Temperature: 35C. Humidity: 99,9%.

Even though weather conditions were less than favorable, Alfred F. Jones allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. It was perfect, it was… Heaven.

He swatted away a fly. Yes, now he could finally rest…

No sooner than he thought that, from bushes leapt up at him five black men clad only in sashes made of leaves and grass. They shouted something to each other then proceeded to tie him up.

America was so shocked that he completely forgot to fight them off. He started struggling only when he was already tied to a stick and hoisted up by two men. He was vaguely aware they were moving.

"Hey, you, people, let me go, you fucktwats. What the fuck, hey!" they dropped him unceremoniously on the ground. Alfred looked around. They were in a village of some sort.

Figures he would choose to rest so close to some barbarian home.

But then he noticed something much more pressing. The savages were starting a fire. A big fire to be exact. And the looks he was given weren't all that friendly.

"Oh God, you gotta be kidding me."

One of the men grinned at him, showing yellow teeth, and approached him with a knife in his hand.

'_Oh, fuck. I can already see the headlines. United States of America was eaten by __a bunch of wild men on his vacation trip. Fuck you!'_

"No, what the fuck, I'm too young to die, and it's all your fault, POLAND!"

The man stopped.

He stopped.

What the fuck?

A low murmur spread across the village. Everybody looked confusedly at each other.

America couldn't blame them. He himself didn't know what was going on.

Suddenly his ropes were gone and someone was manly slapping him on the back. Actually, everybody started shouting excitedly and pointing in his direction. Alfred was baffled.

"Sorry, but what's going on?"

"Here, here!" a woman waved him over and pointed at young man that probably was her son. "You talk." She said firmly.

"Um…"

"D-do not worry." said hesitantly the man. "You friend of Poland, yes? You safe."

America felt as if someone hit him with a club. "What do you mean?"

But before the "translator" could answer, another man approached them. He was definitely older, beads of something that looked like human fingers hanged from his neck. Not to mention his large rings stretched his earlobes nearly to the ground.

America didn't need anyone telling him that this man was boss.

The chief unexpectedly come closer to him and hugged the living shit out of him babbling away in his language. The younger man helpfully translated it for him.

"We happy you came. A friend of Poland is our friend. Let's drink."

Well, who America was to refuse such an offer.

However there was something that worried him…

"How do you know Poland?" At the mention of the nation, everybody started celebrating again and screaming: "Poland good! _Wódka_, good!"

The chief smiled and answered. The translated version went like this:

"Missionaries and priests came here. They gave us their pride."

"Pride?" "Let's show you."

Chief eagerly dragged him to a place where stood an oddest machine Alfred had ever seen. It resembled a maze of crystal pipes and flasks that rested upon an oven. Leave it to Poles to make something so ridiculously complicated. The boss moved to the machine and took one of the cups, then, without any preamble, proceeded to make him drink the contents. Alfred choked at the sharp taste.

"Is this hooch?!"

"_Bimber_!" everybody cried in approval. The chief laughed

"It's good stuff." He said smoothly and gave America a thumb up. Alfred smiled weakly.

"A-and this is their Polish-?"

"Pride!" said the translator while everybody else screamed: "_Wódka_!"

For a moment, Alfred stood very still. Then he fell to his knees and started praying.

* * *

_Lethal dose of alcohol: 3.5‰__. Not applicable to Russians and Poles._

* * *

"And that's why I decided to come here."

"It's really nice of you, America. I haven't had company for a long time." Ivan smiled at him as he put down his cup. America sighed.

He sat in Russia's living room. After his little adventure with a friendly people of Karakuteki (though they wanted to call themselves Wódka- can't imagine why) he decided that his pride be damned, there was no choice anymore- no more running away. With that thought in mind, he'd arrived at Ivan's house, with all intention of staying there for few days (his break was almost over, damn it all to hell). Ivan was quite happy at seeing him (but then again, with him it was difficult to tell) and didn't mind company.

"But are you sure there are no Poles here?"

"_Da_." Ivan had replied with _disappointment_ in his voice.

Alfred shivered. Seriously, if it wasn't a clear testimony of Russia's sick _sick_mind, he didn't know what was. That's some sado-maso tendencies right there!

"So…" began Alfred setting down his own cup. "How's life?"

It was a wrong thing to ask, of course, as Russia's pleasant smile turned slightly cold.

"Fine, thank you. But it's a little lonely without everybody. We were quite happy together until you started mingling in our affairs, _da_?"

'_Like hell you were. Actually, scratch that- like hell they were.'_

And really, it was such a lie. Some countries (who Shall Not Be Named) were opposed to the idea of being one with Mother Russia from the start.

Alfred had to remind himself that no, it was not a good idea pissing off his gracious host (/sarcasm) especially when said host was doing him a favor. Also because he needed a place to stay for three days.

"Maybe you should have taken better care of them instead of pushing them around when they disagreed with you. Respecting their opinion and all that shit. Perhaps they would have stayed regardless of my "mingling" in your affairs" said matter-of-factly America

What was that about pissing off a host? You didn't actually believe that crap, did you?

Russia's smile wasn't even pleasant now, it was positively _demonic._ Alfred had to remind himself that he had a hell lot of nukes that just waited to be used _and_a vial of variola. Bet you that stupid Commies wouldn't see this one coming.

They were interrupted by a sound of front door slamming against the wall and a very loud and a very familiar voice that shouted:

"_Ja pierdolę, kurwa mać, żeby to w cholerę_- RUSSIA!"

America paled. _'Oh God…'_

Meanwhile the newcomer was still screaming profanities.

"When I get you, Russia, you're going to be _so_ totally sorry you'll beg me to make your capital Warsaw, you crappy jerk!"

Ivan looked as if Christmas came early this year. He pulled out his pipe and started to polish it (No, not _that _pipe!), smiling obscenely. Alfred panicked- there was nowhere to run!

Suddenly, the door opened and miraculously managed not to fall from its hinges. America didn't think that such a small and slim looking person was capable of such feat. Those doors were massive.

"RUSSIA!" In the doorframe in all his girly glory stood Feliks Łukasiewicz and the expression on his face indicated that He. Meant_. Business_.

"What the fuck are you thinking, you stupid asshat?! Like seriously, you're being a major bummer right now_, you piece of shit_, you're going to explain yourself he- huh?" Poland blinked, spotting Alfred who tried to invoke his plan: Strategic retreat. Needless to say, he failed.

"America? What-?" But then his eyes narrowed. "_So_. First you're backing out on our deal with that anti-missile shield _and_ now you're scheming with that son of a bitch over here, is that right?!"

America couldn't help thinking that something was very _very_ wrong with this situation.

"I-I- of course not Poland, why would I-?"

"Like I care for your excuses." said the smaller blonde as he cracked his fists. "Your ass is totally mine."

Alfred tried to think of a successful plan (_'Pray to God? Beg for my life? Fight?!'_) but was pulled out of his thoughts when Ivan unexpectedly stood between him and the Pole. America frowned.

"Russia-"

"Go." Alfred blinked.

"Just go." repeated Ivan. "The second door is behind you. I will… ahn… occupy him a little."

America was about to thank him but then caught the hungry expression on the taller man's face and reconsidered. He nodded once and run out of the room with Poland's shriek following him:

"Hey! Where are you-?!"

"Didn't you have business with me, dear Feliks?"

"Oh yeah…"

And as Alfred F. Jones sat in his room in White House he had to face the hard and cold truth. Could you escape from a Pole?

The answer: No, you couldn't.

* * *

_From a__ diary of an American soldier: _

_Day One: I drank a little with Poles._

_Day Two: I'm dying._

_Day Three: Poles once again talked me into drinking with them. _

_Day Four: Pity I didn't die the day before yesterday. _

* * *

**_A/N: _**

"Polska! Biało-Czerwoni!"- screamed by Polish sportfans. Roughtly it means: "Poland! White-Reds!"

"Najwięcej witaminy..."- it's an old Polish song about how Polish women are better than others

"Pułaski and the other guy"- Pułaski and Kościuszko- you can imagine why Alfred decided not to try pronouncing the last name

"Fick dish..."- German curses, the last one means "Polish bandit". I'm sure you can find the rest.

"Norge"- Norway in one of Norwegian languages

"wódka"- vodka

"Ja pierdolę..."- Polish curses. You don't want to know more.

FYI: Yes, Poles really are nearly everywhere. In Ireland the most popular language is Polish, there is so many Poles there. Seriously. As for Scandynavia, it's a pretty popular place for doctors because of a very good payment (I confess, I cheated slightly with that joke because in original it doesn't focus only on Polish doctors but whatever). Plus, about that church in Tromso: it was built (again: built, as in all the work related to building) by Polish nuns who quickly became regional heros of Norway. There was some important guy who couldn't have children- he went to them so that they could somehow help him with weeds or so. Nuns taught him "Holy Mary" and sat him before crucifix with a rosary and told him to pray. Nine months late: poof, a baby. It's not a joke, I personally know one of the nuns as she's from my hometown (which is funny because I'm not much of a catholic...). So yeah.

It was much longer (there was an Ukraine and France segment) but I decided to cut it short.

R&R


End file.
